by Paul Colt
Longstreet huffed up beside him. “Where is he?”
Cane lifted his chin at the back of the train. “What about the woman?”
“Samantha’s got her.”
Cane nodded. “You two get her over to the sheriff’s office. I’ll wire Crook. Maybe he can arrange to have someone pick up our boy in El Paso. With luck we may be able to pick him up on our way back to Denver.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Longstreet found Samantha and a sullen Cecile seated on the bed in the whore’s crib at Scarlet’s Red Rose.
“Did you get him?”
Longstreet shook his head. “He caught the eastbound right on time.”
“Damn.” She handed him Cecile’s derringer. “You keep her covered while I search the place.”
“You got a name you prefer to use?” Longstreet said.
No answer.
“It’ll go easier on you if you cooperate.”
She studied her hands folded in her lap.
Samantha rummaged through a battered leather traveling case. “Look what we have here, one, two, four more bonds. Unless I miscounted that makes twelve.”
“Any sign of the plates or the bank letter?”
She shook her head.
“Then they’re not out of business yet.” He caught the woman’s eyes. “The price of your cooperation just went up. How about it?”
Silence.
“You’re not helpin’ yourself here. Federal judges don’t take kindly to fraud on a scale as grand as you’ll be charged with. A little cooperation could be well worth your while. The Union federals got real good at running tough prisons during the war. Their penitentiaries aren’t places a person wants to spend a lot of time, specially a genteel lady such as yourself.”
“Forget it, Beau. She’ll get what she deserves and rot for it,” Samantha said.
“Cecile, Cecile Antoine.”
“That’s better. Come along, let’s get you over to Sheriff Hardy’s accommodations. We can have us a pleasant little chat there.”
Shady Grove
I sensed we’d come to the end of the line.
“Not a terribly satisfying end to the case.”
The colonel raised a bushy white brow. “End?”
“With Escobar escaping I mean.”
“Oh, we weren’t done with him yet. Cane’s first telegram advised me to alert our El Paso members and the local Continental Express office to be on the lookout for someone seeking to pass a rather large and fraudulent letter of credit. By the time his second telegram arrived, we knew the man we were looking for to be a pockmarked ferret of a Mexican.”
“An exciting morsel of the tale that shall have to wait for next week.” My Penny smiled her best Mona Lisa. “Time for supper.”
“Speaking of morsels, Robert, you’ve no idea.”
“So you keep saying, but truly it can’t be that bad. You don’t seem to be wasting away.”
“I would, save for the contraband treats you supply me.”
I winced. Could he be giving away our little arrangement? I’d never been comfortable with the idea of deceiving Penny.
“Contraband? What contraband, Robert?”
He smiled, letting me twist on her accusation.
“Candy, my dear. Nothing more harmful than a bit of chocolate to sweeten an old man’s disposition.” He chuckled at my discomfort.
“I should hope not,” she said. “Shall I see you at six then, Robert?”
“You shall. See you next week, Colonel.”
He patted his lap robe with a conspiratorial wink as she wheeled him away.
Texas & Pacific Eastbound
The train picked up speed. Tucson fell away to the rear. Escobar seated himself on the boxcar floor. The excitement of the encounter with their pursuers, the gunfight and chase, drained away to fatigue. The rattle of the rails turned drowsy. He fought sleep. He had more pressing problems to solve. They would wire ahead. The train would be searched at its next stop. He needed to disappear, but how? If he jumped the train, he would die in the desert or be seriously injured in the fall.
Inspiration when it came, came from the divine. He indulged himself a laugh as he opened a large crate addressed to the First Baptist Church of El Paso. Inside he found an organ. It took what remained of his physical strength to help the organ jump the train.
El Paso
El Paso Town Marshal Pablo Rojas took immediate action on the wire he received from Colonel Crook. He’d had alerts from the Great Western Detective League in the past to be on the lookout for this or that fugitive. Only last year he’d gone on the prowl for the train robber Sam Bass. This one was different. He’d been instructed to search the eastbound train arriving from Tucson for a Mexican known as Escobar and to take him into custody, if found, on suspicion of fraud. He was also advised to set watch on the El Paso Continental Express office for anyone attempting to negotiate a bank letter of credit in the purchase of a large money order. They’d searched the train and found no one.
Escobar kicked his way free of the fragile nail hold he’d pulled together from inside the crate. Despite the late hour a gusty blast of west Texas heat greeted his arrival. He slipped off the depot platform into the shadows and trudged down the street toward town. The road ahead led to Santa Fe. The Don would not be pleased. They’d failed to complete the job. The woman and the last four bonds were now in the hands of the authorities. He’d been lucky to escape, if facing the Don’s wrath could be considered luck. They still had the plates. They need only find another printer and a person to pass the paper. It would be wise to have answers for these questions before he faced the Don. Answers and the proceeds of the letter he held in his case. He needed time to think. He smiled. He knew such a place.
The eastbound Texas & Pacific slow-rolled into the station. El Paso spilled south and west from the rail line between Main and St. Louis streets, the architecture a mixture of clapboard and Victorian. Longstreet rode with the Maples woman. Cane had gotten the sullen prisoner. Perhaps the better, it gave him time to think over the run in from Tucson. Cane stared ahead, mulling the little bit she’d told them. She might be holding out on them, but he doubted it. Her story fit his expectations. Either it was the truth or she was a world-class liar.
Her partner was a Mexican she called Escobar. She passed the paper. He cashed the letters. He worked for someone she’d heard him refer to as the Don. She had no knowledge of where the bonds came from. She was paid to pass them. Escobar wasn’t the big fish, but he probably knew the next fish in the sea. With luck they might catch him in El Paso.
El Paso
Hot wind whipped stinging sand across the station platform. Longstreet and Samantha escorted the prisoner to the depot. Cane followed along, calculating his next move. They stepped inside out of the wind.
“I need to wire Kingsley,” Samantha said.
Longstreet nodded.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She crossed the station lounge to the Western Union desk.
“You two can take her up to the marshal’s office and have her outfitted for suitable accommodations,” Cane said. “I’ll get rooms at the hotel and pay a visit to the Continental Express office.”
“Do you really need to lock me up?” Cecile said. “I’d be no trouble at the hotel.”
“Sorry,” Longstreet said. “You’d best get used to your new accommodations.”
She pulled a sullen pout, as Samantha returned.
“You and Beau can take our guest here up to the marshal’s office. I’ll get rooms at the hotel and meet you there.”
Samantha furrowed her brow.
“C’mon, let’s get this one locked up,” Beau said.
Samantha fell in beside the prisoner with one eye following Cane out the door and down the street. Her instincts told her something was up.
By the time they turned the prisoner over to the custody of a deputy town marshal and returned to the hotel, rooms were waiting along with a telegram from Kingsley.
“Orders from headquarters?” Longstreet asked.
Samantha read. “Kingsley. Wants me to pick up Belle Spice in Santa Fe and deliver her to Denver for trial.”
“Belle Spice?”
“Wells Fargo stage robber. She made the mistake of trying to rob the stage I was on coming down here.”
“I’ll bet she’s the one who tried to rob our stage. We managed to run her off.”
“Well done, I’m sure. I managed to put a collar on her.”
“You’re on a hot streak.”
She smiled mischievously.
“I’d best buy you a drink to toast your success.”
“What about Cane?”
“Oh, he’ll be along.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Continental Express Office
“Marshal?”
“Pablo Rojas.” The small swarthy marshal standing at the counter extended his hand. The bored express agent glanced at the exchange and went on with his work.
“Briscoe Cane. Colonel Crook sent me.”
“I’ve been expecting you.”
“No sign of our counterfeit friend, I take it.”
“Not here. Not yet. Though we think he might be in the area.”
“Why so?”
“We searched the eastbound train when it arrived from Tucson and found no one matching your description. The following day First Baptist Church reported an organ missing.”
“An organ?”
“Sí. The bill of lading clearly showed the instrument was delivered on the eastbound from Tucson. The crate was found on the station platform empty. Organs are not given to walking away on their own, not even Baptist organs. We think your man threw the organ off the train and hid himself in the crate. We have been on watch for him here ever since. No one has attempted to negotiate a bank letter of the sort the dodger describes. He may be hiding somewhere in the area but it is hard to say where.”
“Perhaps not so hard.”
“You think you know where to find him?”
“I might. Do you have a whorehouse in town?”
Rojas laughed. “Are you joking, amigo? El Paso has many fine whorehouses.”
“Our friend favors them.”
“Then we have only to search them.”
“Not so fast. We want him to cash that letter to see what he does with it.”
“Cash? Now it’s my turn. Not so fast,” the agent at the counter said.
Cane rubbed the stubble on his chin. He could see the man’s point. All we really need is for him to lead us to his contact. He smiled with a nod. It just might work that way too.
The whore snored, masked in a tangle of raven hair. Escobar smoked, swirling a glass of passable tequila. The time had come. The Don’s anger would only grow stronger at further delay. In the morning he would cash the letter and catch the noon stage to Santa Fe. The whore stirred. He stubbed out his cigarillo and tossed off his drink. Another matter pressed.
Morning sun leaked through the curtains. Samantha put finishing touches on her hair. They’d passed a pleasant enough evening with dinner and enough sherry to set the mood. She’d been somewhat surprised when they parted. Longstreet seemed preoccupied. Her instincts told her something might be afoot with the case, but she had her orders. Deliver Belle Spice.
She collected her small bag and left the room. Beau appeared in the hall at the sound of her latch.
“May I escort you to the stage depot?”
“How very gallant.”
“You know me, perfectly gallant. Here let me have that.” He took her bag.
They descended the sweeping staircase to the lobby and stepped into the day’s bright building heat. He offered his arm as they crossed St. Louis to the stage office.
“About last night.”
“What about it?”
“I’m afraid I wasn’t myself.”
“Anything I should be concerned about?”
He paused. “No. I don’t think so.”
“Good. Then I’ll not give it another thought.”
She bought a ticket for Santa Fe and joined Beau on the boardwalk to await the stage.
“About our package at the jail.”
“Cecile? We’ll bring her along. Report your part in her capture to Kingsley. It’s a split.”
Escobar entered the Continental Express office. He slid the letter across the counter to a bespectacled clerk.
“I need two money orders. One in the amount of eighty thousand and one of twenty thousand.”
The clerk made no reaction at the amounts. Odd, they usually did. He read the letter.
“I’ll have to present this for acceptance first. That will take a couple of days.”
“What? It’s a bank letter of credit. It’s as good as cash.”
He shook his head. “Not really. It says here it is payable on acceptance.” He laid the letter on the counter and pointed to the words with a cracked fingernail.
“I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Neither have I, but that’s what it says.”
“There must be some mistake.”
“Maybe so, but you’ll have to take that up with the bank.”
Escobar picked up the letter. Mistake? No mistake. It’s a trap!
Outside he turned east on Main toward the stage depot.
Cane watched him from a cigar store window across the tracks from the Continental Express office. He stepped outside and followed along.
Escobar turned south and crossed the tracks to San Francisco. He noticed the couple beside the stage up the block. He didn’t think anything of it other than the need to hurry as the stage would soon depart. As he drew closer, he recognized the big detective. He ducked into the next available door. A barber sat in his chair reading a newspaper.
“Need a shave?”
Escobar spotted a room at the back. “You got a bath?”
“Sure thing. Four bits.”
He tossed the barber a half dollar.
“I’ll have the boy fetch hot water.”
The barber stepped outside.
Cane broke into a jog when Escobar disappeared in a doorway. He nearly collided with the barber.
“Where is he?”
“Who?”
“The Mexican who just came in here.”
“Waitin’ for his bath.”
Cane pushed past the barber. The shop was empty. The door at the back closed. Cane drew his gun and opened the door to the bath. No one. A single window at the back of the room stood open. He dashed back to the boardwalk.
“Beau!”
Longstreet heard alarm. “Looks like duty calls. See you in Denver.”
He ran down the street, leaving the driver to assist Samantha aboard the stage.
Longstreet pounded up the boardwalk to Cane.
“He ducked out the back,” Cane said.
“Who?”
“Our Mexican bondsman. You remember.”
“Where’d he go?”
Cane shrugged. “You take the livery stable. I got the train station.”
He set off for the depot to the clump of Longstreet’s boots retreating in the direction of the livery stable. He checked the sky first mindful of Tucson. No smoke sign. Good. He cut his eyes down side streets and alleys as he made his way to the depot. He climbed the platform and entered the passenger lounge. A few people lounged or dozed on uncomfortable benches. No sign of the Mexican.
Now what? He’d spotted them. He’d have to run. A train was the best choice. Maybe he’d gone for the livery, or maybe he’d steal a horse. Cane didn’t like that option. They couldn’t cover that one. Movement in a window on the trackside platform caught his eye. He remembered the Western Union office next door. He drew his gun. Passengers stirred, registering alarm as he cracked open the door to the platform. Freight stood in crates waiting to be loaded on the next westbound. He remembered the Baptist organ. Might he try that again? It worked once.
He was about to check the packing crates when t
he Western Union office door opened on his right. Escobar glanced around. Cane stepped out on the platform and leveled his gun.
“Up with your hands!”
The Mexican’s eyes went wide. He lifted his hands with a scowl.
“Now nice and easy. Drop your gun.”
He lifted Longstreet’s pocket pistol from his coat with thumb and forefinger and dropped it on the platform.
“Now step away from the gun and lay down. Hands behind your back.”
Cane cuffed him and collected Longstreet’s gun.
“On your feet.”
“You will never keep me, gringo.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“Sí. We shall see.”
“Now, before we lock you up, let’s see what was so important you needed to send a wire.” He marched Escobar into the Western Union office.
The telegrapher puzzled at his visitors. Things with this Mex got stranger by the minute.
“This man send a wire?” Cane said.
The telegrapher nodded.
“Let me see it.”
“I can’t do that. You the law?”
“Great Western Detective League.”
The clerk shrugged. “Don’t mean nothin’ to me.”
“Marshal Rojas good enough?”
“He ain’t here.”
“Get him.”
Ten minutes later the marshal had the message sent to Santa Fe.
El Anillo, the ring.
Shady Grove
The colonel yawned. He would soon be overtaken by lunch and naptime. Our session for the day was nearing an end.
“What did it mean?”
He looked quizzical.
“El Anillo, the ring.”
“As you shall see my young friend we attempted to uncover the answer to that question. It proved a rather ingenious adaptation of the proverbial Gordian knot. Don Victor and his shadow network made a formidable criminal enterprise. One not easily broken.”
“And that’s why the newspaper accounts of this case are so spare.”
The old scoundrel smiled. “You’re getting ahead of yourself again, Robert. All I shall say on that point is fortunate for me.”
“Fortunate for you, how so?”
“Fortunate I have more stories to tell and thus a continuation of our arrangement.” He patted the bulge in his lap robe and smiled.